


cowgirl like me

by jamgrl



Series: Eden Stables Fics [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Alternate Universe - Western, Aziraphale is the school librarian, F/F, Holidays, Horseback Riding, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), References to violence against indigenous people (Crowley is a history teacher), Spouse loss (Crowley is a widow), Winter, it's modern!, librarian/teacher, single parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28158519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: Since taking a job at a school library in rural Wyoming, Zira’s friends have only been her books. There is one teacher, though, that she can’t help daydreaming about. Could she show her the ropes of this western life?Antonia hasn’t spent much time talking to anyone other than her son, her students, and her horses since her husband passed. There isn’t really anyone worth talking to. Except maybe the school librarian, who seems just sharp enough to be interesting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Eden Stables Fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062908
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32





	cowgirl like me

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my friend [TawnyOwl95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyOwl95/pseuds/TawnyOwl95) for being an amazing beta!!! I wrote this completely on a whim after listening to _Evermore_ and she took me seriously and made me actually think and consequently made this so much better! She is amazing in everything she does-def check out her work! 
> 
> This fic was inspired by Taylor Swift's [_cowboy like me_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPlNBb6I8qU).

“Cart for Mrs. Johnson, seventh and eighth grade history?”

Zira Fell looked up from her computer screen, where she had been entering recent returns into the library database before restocking them. The speaker hovered over the circulation desk, hands clad in fingerless gloves clasped tightly around a travel mug, steam escaping from it. She was still bundled in a peacoat and scarf, her transition lenses tinted as if she had just come in from outside. The library was near the school entrance, so the teacher was likely stopping in before going to her classroom for the school day.

“Ah! Good morning, Mrs. Johnson!” Zira said brightly. Mrs. Johnson was perhaps the only teacher Zira could be happy to see this early. “Cold this morning, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Johnson nodded curtly, a strand of wavy red hair that wasn’t held in place by her neat half updo falling in her face. Zira tried to keep her eyes from lingering on the fingers with black polished nails that pushed the strand behind her ear. She shifted her focus to the black haired student at the teacher’s side. 

“And how are you, Mr. Warlock?”

Warlock stopped his fidget spinner and looked up at Zira. “I’d be better if my mom didn’t spend so much time working,” he said testily.

“Warlock!” 

The child pocketed the fidget spinner and crossed his arms, looking anywhere but at his mother, who stared at him with evident shock and embarrassment.

“Well,” Zira said, in a valiant attempt to smooth out the tension. “I’m sure we’ll all be happy to be on break soon.”

Mrs. Johnson’s hand fell on Warlock’s shoulder, squeezing it and rubbing affectionately with her thumb. “Why don’t you pick a book or two to take home with you for the holidays,” she said softly, her face crinkled in concern. 

Warlock grumbled, muttering “fine,” before he slunk off.

“Sorry,” Mrs. Johnson said, turning to Zira sheepishly. “He’s chosen this year to suddenly be adversarial about everything.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. It’s tough being his age.”

“Tough for me, too,” she muttered to her coffee before taking a sip.

Zira bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She imagined Mrs. Johnson to be an excellent parent, just as she tended to imagine her to be excellent at everything. She had to admit, too, to some jealousy in never having had kids herself, which made her ill equipped to respond in any way that could possibly be helpful.

“Right!” she exclaimed after a moment’s pause, returning the subject to books. “Your cart, yes? I have it ready for you.” Zira found the library cart she’d spent the previous day filling with an assortment of paperbacks and hardcovers from the list Mrs. Johnson had submitted. She’d been excited by the assignment. It was very organized and submitted well in advance, unlike the majority of requests Zira received and bitterly put together in haste. “Such interesting titles!” she babbled as she rolled the books around the circulation desk to the teacher. “May I ask what the assignment is?”

Mrs. Johnson’s glasses had lost some of their tint, allowing Zira to see her amber eyes widen at the question. “Oh, uh,” she responded awkwardly. “They’re learning about relations between white settlers and indigenous people during westward expansion. They’ve got to choose an event and read western and indigenous accounts, compare them, look for biases, that kind of thing. I’m trying to get them to think critically, you know?” Her voice became more passionate as she continued. “Question what they’ve been taught, question what they read. I can’t let a bunch of white kids in Wyoming only learn revisionist history! They’re old enough to know the truth!” Mrs. Johnson stopped suddenly and looked down with a blush. She took a long sip of her coffee.

“I think that’s absolutely wonderful!” Zira encouraged. “They’re lucky, having a teacher like you.”

Mrs. Johnson shrugged. 

“I must admit,” Zira said bashfully, regretful of not sharing in this obvious passion, “I don’t know much about the subject, myself.”

The teacher looked up with curiosity.

“Do you have a reading recommendation?” Zira asked hopefully. 

The question was, admittedly, shamefully, really more of a ploy to keep Mrs. Johnson talking than a genuine interest. Zira couldn’t deny that since the first time she had spoken to the teacher, in that first week of the school year before the students arrived, she had developed a bit of a crush. She was brand new at the school and she’d just happened to sit next to Mrs. Johnson during the welcome luncheon. Zira was amused by Mrs. Johnson’s cynical commentary while the school principal and vice principal each laid out their “visions” for the school, which consisted of flowery language that amounted to reinforcing the importance of test scores. Zira’s chuckling was rewarded with a mischievous lopsided smile from the teacher, and ever since then, Zira had been smitten.

Zira didn’t know much about Mrs. Johnson, just that she taught history for the whole of the seventh and eighth grade in their small rural school, she had a son, Warlock, in the seventh grade, and her eyes became fiery when she discussed anything she felt strongly about.

It helped, too, that Mrs. Johnson treated her like she had a brain, and not like she only existed to do her bidding. Zira liked her job well enough: loved being surrounded by books, helping children cultivate a love of reading. She found most of the people she worked with, however, needling at best.

Now, Mrs. Johnson’s eyes were focused on examining the books in the cart Zira had prepared. She pulled out a medium sized paperback and held it out. Zira took the somewhat battered copy of _Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West._

“This one’ll give you a fairly good overview, and it’s not a hard read,” Mrs. Johnson said, tapping the book already held in Zira’s hands.

Zira gripped the book tightly, gratified to have been taken seriously. “Thank you.”

“I should warn you,” Mrs. Johnson said gravely. “It’s not feel good, you understand? But it’s important stuff.”

Zira nodded earnestly. She wouldn’t delay reading it: it would give her another reason to talk to the teacher. Pathetic, she knew, harboring a crush like this with no intention of ever saying anything. But she had no desire to be a homewrecker, so all she could do was stay silent and reprimand herself for not finding a more reasonable object to focus her affection on while she continued to fuel the crush, anyways.

Warlock arrived back at the desk with two pirate novels, spirits seeming to have lifted. As Zira checked out his books, the other librarian, Tracy, strolled through the glass library double doors, twenty minutes late, as usual. Zira smiled through her feelings of annoyance.

Mother and son turned to leave as Zira bid them a kind goodbye. She watched as the teacher ruffled her son’s hair affectionately when they exited the library, her son pushing the cart of books along for her. Zira didn’t manage to stop herself from sighing just as Tracy swept in behind the desk.

“Be careful there, dearie, I think that one’s sweet on you,” Tracy remarked as she hung her winter coat on the stand inside circulation.

“Mrs. Johnson? No,” Zira responded in disbelief, ignoring the flower of hope that sprung in her chest at Tracy’s words. “Isn’t she married?”

“Not since Mr. Johnson was in that accident not two years ago,” Tracy said matter-of-factly.

Zira’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean he…?”

“Passed away. Yes.”

“Oh dear!” Zira frowned, feeling a well of pity lodge into her chest. “I had no idea!”

“It was a sad business, him being so young and them having little Warlock,” Tracy said, as she began unwrapping what appeared to be an eight foot multicolored scarf from around her neck. “She’s been awful quiet since then. Keeps to herself. Don’t talk to no one but her students, her son, and their horses. That is, until you came along.”

Zira raised her eyebrows in surprise and looked to the double doors the teacher and her son had left through. This was a complicated situation, indeed, and she wasn’t sure what to feel about it. She had quite a lot to contemplate.

* * *

Antonia Johnson, formerly Antonia Crowley, set her half drunk coffee on her desk as she slung off her backpack containing a week’s worth of lesson plans. She began peeling off her layers of winter clothing as Warlock helpfully pushed the cart of books into a corner of the classroom.

“So when are you going to ask out Ms. Fell?” Warlock asked as he jumped onto the edge of Antonia’s desk, immediately shoving his hand into the jar of candy meant for students who answered questions correctly. Antonia gaped at her son, unable to form a response. The child was becoming far too astute.

Warlock swung his legs as he unwrapped a strawberry hard candy, kicking the front of the desk with the heels of his winter boots. Antonia would likely have to get him new ones, soon: the boy was growing so fast.

Warlock raised an eyebrow, giving Antonia a look that far too closely resembled one from his father. She felt a pang thinking about Eric, about how he could always read her like an open book. “I can tell that you like her,” Warlock said pointedly, smacking the candy loudly. Apparently the skill had been inherited.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Antonia denied. “I don’t have time to like anyone. Now get off my desk before you destroy it with your big feet!” She shooed him off the desk with both hands. He rolled his eyes as he jumped down.

“You work way too much!” Warlock complained, finding a student desk to lounge in, instead, slumping across the chair rather than sitting in it properly. His habit of not sitting correctly, Antonia was ashamed to admit, resembled _herself_ far too much.

“My work is important,” Antonia insisted as she began unpacking her backpack.

“Yeah, yeah, but would it kill you to put on a movie for once?”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Plenty of teachers do it! A documentary, or something. You can give us a worksheet with questions so we watch it. And then you can take a week off from lesson planning, take Ms. Fell somewhere nice for dinner.”

There was an appeal to the idea, Antonia couldn’t deny. To have a brief respite from late evenings planning and grading? But, no. She had to reject it outright. If she didn’t put every ounce of care she possibly could into her work, what else did she have? “I think this is really about you wanting to get out of work,” she resolved.

“Are you worried because you don’t know if Ms. Fell likes you back? _Becaaauuse_ , you know Adam Young? He’s decided to become a detective and he’s looking for cases. So far, he solved the mystery of what’s really in the cafeteria’s Tuesday special surprise _and_ the mystery of what happened to Mr. Vista’s missing fish food. I can ask him to use his detective skills to find out if Ms. Fell likes you!”

“No, thank you,” Antonia said firmly. She uncapped an expo marker and began writing the day’s warm up on the board, hoping her son would drop the subject, especially before the busses started arriving and her first period students began filtering in.

“You know, Mom, it’s been almost two years. It would be okay to move on. I think Dad would want you to.”

Antonia stopped her writing mid-letter. Warlock didn’t often bring up his father. Not unlikely because when he had in the past, it had often reduced his usually fierce mother into a whimpering mess.

She capped the marker and placed it on the whiteboard tray, her hands shaking slightly. She turned and crouched down, opening her arms. “Come here.”

Warlock slipped out of the desk and slunk over, reluctantly allowing himself to be wrapped up in Antonia’s arms and squeezed tightly. Antonia buried her face in his too long hair. 

“You know no one will ever replace Dad.” 

The thought of it, of someone taking his place, made her weak with sadness. But she was lonely, too.

“I know. But I’m worried about you, Mom. You don’t have any friends.”

Antonia pulled back to look at her son, pushing some hair gently behind his ear, aware she had silent tears running down her face. “I have _you._ ”

“I mean grown ups. I can’t be your only friend!”

Antonia smiled. He was a good kid and she could hardly believe he’d become so mature. She dried her eyes with the back of her hand. She didn’t want to admit it, because she was loath to like people in general, especially most of the people at this school, but she was desperate for companionship. “You’re right.”

“Ms. Fell is really nice,” Warlock pointed out. “And pretty, too.”

Antonia’s smile widened. “I do like Ms. Fell.” It was true that she was a beautiful woman, with her curly bob often held back with a headband like a blonde Snow White, her full curves always flatteringly accentuated by her vintage dresses and cardigans. (Talk about a hot librarian.) And she was sweet as could be to absolutely everyone. But that wasn’t what made Antonia like her. She was sharp, Antonia could tell, and the only person smart enough, apparently, to appreciate Antonia’s dark humor. She wanted to get to know her more, pull out some of the un-sweetness from under the surface.

“I knew it! I’ll ask Adam to get on the case for you!”

“No! No. I’m a grown up. I can find out myself.”

“You should take her riding,” Warlock suggested thoughtfully. “I don’t mind letting her take Scout.”

Antonia’s heart warmed at her son’s generous spirit, easily offering his horse. “That’s a great idea.”

* * *

On the last day of school before the week and a half long holiday break, Zira was taking her lunch at the circulation desk, as she often did when she was too absorbed in a book to waste time going somewhere else. She was munching on baby carrots in distress, her half eaten sandwich left to the side, forgotten. 

Of course she’d known about poor treatment of Native Americans, and she’d recognized many of the names of famous battles of the American Indian Wars, but she hadn’t realized just how unbalanced everything had been, the level of atrocity committed in the name of Manifest Destiny. Not even to mention the namesake of the book- what she had always learned about as “the Battle of Wounded Knee” was not a battle at all, but rather a massacre committed long after warring had ended. It made Zira ill, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to eat the brownie she had packed for herself, which was saying something.

She was startled by the sound of fingers tapping at the desk. She looked up to see Mrs. Johnson hovering over the desk in a smart black blazer. She stopped the tapping, pulling her hand back self consciously. 

“Mrs. Johnson!” Zira exclaimed, surprised.

“Crowley,” the teacher corrected quickly.

“I’m sorry?”

Mrs. Johnson’s eyes went wide. Her words streamed out quickly. “You can call me ‘Crowley’. It’s what people call me. Or, it used to be. It’s been a while since anyone’s called me anything other than ‘Mrs. Johnson’ or ‘Mom’.” She looked down, clearly nervous.

“Oh! Is that your first name?”

“No. It’s my maiden name.”

“Ah.” Zira smiled gently, hoping to put the woman at ease, even if it _was_ a bit odd, going by a maiden name. There was something special about it, though, like she was being let in on some secret. “Well, I’m just Zira. No nickname to speak of.”

Mrs. Johnson, _Crowley_ , nodded curtly, her gaze falling to the open book in front of Zira. “You’re nearly finished,” she remarked with some surprise.

Zira felt herself flush. “I’m a fast reader.” She also didn’t have much to do. Television gave her headaches, she was far from her family in Massachusetts, and she wasn’t much of a social butterfly. She knew she really should have been making more effort to get to know people. But that’s what she was doing with Crowley, wasn’t she? With reading this book? Making a friend. Or something like that. 

At the school, at least, there weren’t any other people she had a desire to know better. 

“What do you think?” Crowley asked.

Zira looked down at the browned pages and frowned. “It’s an excellent book, of course. I’m just ashamed of how little of this I knew.”

“It’s not your fault. We don’t like to talk about it, especially not in schools. But it’s our history. And it’s the legacy of all that that we are still reckoning with, and in fact which it is our _responsibility_ to reckon with, today.” There was the fire in her eyes again. Zira tried not to stare longingly. She looked at her folded hands.

“Well. As I said before: these children are very lucky to have you as a teacher.” She paused before continuing. “And I find that I am very lucky to know you.” Zira looked up and gave Crowley a wide smile.

Crowley let out a series of consonants, her eyes wide as saucers, before she redirected her attention to a mesh wire pencil cup on the desk, tipping it back and forth. “Do you like horses?” she blurted at the pencils.

Zira was thrown by the abrupt change in topic, but responded as politely as she could. “I suppose I must.”

“I mean, riding.” Crowley was still fidgeting with the pencils. “That was a stupid question. You are from Boston, right? City slicker like you has probably never ridden a horse.”

Zira chuckled. “I’m from rural Mass actually. I’ve ridden horses.”

Crowley looked up, her eyebrows raised. “Oh.” 

Zira smiled at her obvious embarrassment. Zira usually felt flustered around the teacher, but seeing Crowley bluster and bumble made her feel comfortable and confident, somehow. She didn’t want to push anything romantic, even though she now knew that something romantic wasn’t out of the question. She’d been hoping that what Tracy had observed was true: that Crowley really did like her, and this behavior felt like a confirmation. But it was possible Crowley didn’t know it, herself, with all those mixed up feelings she was likely having considering her recent loss. And with her having a pre-teen: if anything were to happen, Zira knew it would have to be slow and on Crowley’s terms. Zira liked her well enough to be patient, and she was calm in knowing it was the right thing not to advance on her. This was a waiting period, in a way, and she could become friends with the woman with a safe sort of distance.

“Are you going back to ‘rural Mass’ over the break?”

Zira smiled weakly. “I’m afraid I don’t have the money for plane tickets at the moment. My family will simply have to miss me. It will just be me and my books this holiday season.”

Crowley furrowed her brows. “You are welcome to spend the holidays with me and Warlock. It’s just us, and I’d hate for you to be alone. Do you, I mean- do you celebrate Christmas?”

Zira was taken aback by the offer. She hadn’t been fishing and the last thing she wanted was to impose herself. “Yes, I celebrate Christmas,” she said slowly. “That’s very kind of you.” She tried to come up with a polite way to decline.

“More selfish than kind, really,” Crowley muttered.

Zira’s mind redirected again, pulse picking up speed. “How so?”

Crowley blushed. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

The excitement forming in Zira’s chest dampened a bit. Of course any company at all for the holidays would be welcome in Crowley’s situation. That Zira didn’t have plans was merely convenient.

“You can come over for Christmas dinner. If you like.”

Zira took a deep breath and put on a placid smile. There were no excuses available; she’d already revealed her lack of anything else to do. “I’d like that.”

“Right. Okay.” Crowley seemed to consider something, tapping her fist against the desk. “Before that, if you want- what I was actually trying to ask you about, before, with the horses? I was wondering if you might want to go riding with me. Maybe tomorrow? Warlock and I have two horses, you see.”

“Oh.” Zira was surprised again, but pleased with Crowley’s attempts to be friendly. She furrowed her eyebrows, remembering something in disappointment. “I’m afraid I don’t have a horse.”

Crowley shook her head. “You don’t need one. You could ride Warlock’s. He’s got a playdate. Or, well, maybe he’s too old for them to be called playdates, but you know what I mean. It would just be us grown ups.”

“Oh!” Zira’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. She hadn’t actually ridden a horse in quite a while, but she wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to spend time with Crowley, _alone_ time with Crowley, even if it had to be platonic. “That would be, ah. Very nice.”

“Good, great. I’ll meet you at Eden Stables, then. That’s where we board the horses. How’s 10AM?”

“Perfect.”

“Right. Great. See you then.” Crowley shot Zira two finger guns then seemed to think better of it, shoving her hands in the pockets of her business slacks. Zira watched her slink off, a bit in a daze, but thrilled that she was going to get to see her off of school grounds. Excitement was bubbling in her chest, but she would regulate her heart. What Crowley needed was a friend, not a smitten fool. Zira could be a friend.

* * *

“You should be gentlemanly,” Warlock suggested from the passenger’s seat of the pickup while Antonia drove him to Adam Young’s house for the day.

“I can’t be gentlemanly, I’m a woman.”

“Sure you can! It’s like you always say: what’s gender got to do with anything?”

Antonia frowned. She couldn’t argue with that logic. Maybe she’d taught him too well.

“Are you going to buy her flowers?”

Antonia glanced sideways at her son as she gripped the wheel nervously. “Do you think I should?”

“I think it’d be nice,” Warlock declared, with a confidence that could have been reflective of either herself or his father. It was hard to tell. It made Antonia feel less so.

She reverted her gaze to the country road and considered. It couldn’t hurt. She definitely wanted to make a good impression. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing: she hadn’t dated since college. “I’ll stop by Paradise Farms Market after I drop you off,” she decided.

Warlock pumped his fist.

When they arrived at the Young’s, she leaned across the console and firmly kissed Warlock’s head. “Have fun,” she said.

“You too!” Warlock gave Antonia a big mischievous smile and winked. _The little devil_. He hopped out of the truck and ran to the door of the Young’s house. Antonia waved to Adam’s mom when she opened the door to let him in. 

She arrived at Eden Stables early, a bundle of wildflowers tied with a burlap ribbon in her hand. She wanted to take some time to prepare the horses before Zira showed up. Scout and Stella were the only horses in their stalls in the rustic wooden barn, the remaining boarders being out in the stable pastures. She greeted her horses with carrots and a few pats, each. They were happy to see her and her mood lifted just being near them. There was something so _grounding,_ being with the horses. 

Antonia hung her coat on the hook outside Scout’s stall and placed the flowers in a coat pocket as gently as she could so the petals wouldn’t become smushed. She got to work saddling the horses up.

* * *

When Zira stepped out of her tiny sedan into the gravel lot of the public stables, she was greeted with a strong aroma of leather, hay, and a touch of horse manure. The cold in the air was brisk, but there wasn’t a biting wind and the sky was a clear blue with only a smattering of clouds. It was nice out for a Wyoming December day. Zira pulled her purple puffy coat tight around her neck and made her way to what appeared to be the horse barn.

Pushing through the oversized wooden doors, Zira was immediately struck by the vision before her. The sensible slacks, blazer, and comfortable heels had been replaced with tight denim jeans, worn looking cowboys boots, and a loose red and black plaid flannel, the half bun with two short french braids. Crowley was scratching a chestnut horse behind the ears, talking to it with an encouraging baby voice. Zira cleared her throat to make her presence known, trying to keep her breath from going shallow. Crowley turned and gave Zira a huge smile. She’d never seen Crowley in such a good mood- it was like there was a tiny sun radiating out of her face.

Crowley wiped her hands on her jeans and met Zira at the barn entrance. She lightly laid her hands on Zira’s arms in greeting and Zira wished she could feel them better through the puffy coat. 

“So glad you found this place okay,” Crowley said. 

Zira’s eyes fell to the opening of Crowley’s flannel, which was unbuttoned one too many. She caught a glimpse of black lace and averted her gaze, hoping the pink in her cheeks from the cold would be enough to cover her blush. 

Crowley’s hands quickly left Zira’s arms, fingers fumbling with her buttons. “So sorry,” she said sheepishly. “It gets so hot in here. Right, well. Come meet the horses.” She turned abruptly, leading Zira to the horse whose ears she’d been scratching. “This good boy,” she said, rubbing the horse’s neck. “Is Scout. You’ll be riding him.” 

Zira gently smoothed a hand over his neck and mane on the opposite side of Crowley. “Hi there, Scout. I’m Zira.”

Crowley gave her that lopsided smile from the other side of Scout’s head. “He’s very friendly and calm, that’s why I let Warlock ride him. We’ve had him for five years. He was Eric’s.” Crowley’s smile vanished, as if she hadn’t meant to let that slip. “That is, my late husband’s.” She cleared her throat. “He’ll be good for you. Scout, I mean.” She dropped her hands from the horse abruptly and rubbed them together nervously. She moved on to the next horse. 

Zira felt a little odd, knowing she would be riding the teacher’s late husband’s horse. She wondered if she was the first person to, other than Warlock. If so, how was it that she was being afforded what she could only think of as an extreme intimacy, an _honor?_ No, no, it was just friendliness. Zira happened to be the first person Crowley was extending friendship to in a long time, that was all.

Crowley clicked her tongue to draw the other horse to the stall gate. She was smiling again as the horse with a shimmery black coat speckled with white nudged her hands and she rubbed its nose. “This special girl is Stella. Named so because her coat is like the night sky. Stubborn as can be, she is, but she’s been my girl six years.”

“Stiff competition, then.” Zira clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t _meant_ to be flirtatious. Crowley didn’t seem uncomfortable though. She bit her lip, eyes sparkling. 

“That reminds me of something, actually,” Crowley said. She found her jacket, which was hanging on a hook along Scout’s stall. Out of one of her jacket pockets she pulled what appeared to have once been a small bouquet. Her face fell and her eyes followed the trail of damage, petals like crumbs littering the ground around the gate corner closest to where her coat hung. It occurred to Zira for the first time that perhaps this was meant to be a date. Her heartbeat picked up.

“Scout!” Crowley exclaimed. She closed her eyes and sighed. She ran her fingers through the horse’s mane. “I know you didn’t know, Scout,” she said to the horse flatly. “But these flowers were _not_ for you.”

Zira walked up to Crowley, her body buzzing with nervous energy. “May I see them?” 

The teacher handed over the broken and mostly eaten bouquet sheepishly. There were some flowers intact, but most of the stems were broken and bent, missing the blooms. 

“I’m sorry. I should have put them somewhere safer.”

Zira stared at the bouquet in disbelief. She felt like crying. “I, uh.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m incredibly flattered that you’d think to get me flowers at all.”

“It was Warlock’s idea. And I, uh. Well, I thought it was a good one. He’s a smart kid.”

“He’s okay with-” Zira searched the barn, looking for a word to describe whatever it was they were doing. She settled on, “this?” 

Zira couldn’t believe things could be this easy, that Crowley could be ready. That she could so easily invite her into her world, into her _family._

That meant Zira had to examine herself, find out if _she_ was ready.

Crowley beamed. “He really likes you.” Crowley’s smile was electric, and, oh, she was _so beautiful._ Zira was ready, oh yes, she was ready.

Crowley held her hand out. “I’ll toss those. Not much worth keeping, now.” Zira was reluctant to hand them over, even as ruined as they were. She settled on pulling off the burlap ribbon and sticking it in her pocket, returning the soggy flower stems to Crowley. 

After Crowley found a place to dump the once bouquet, she stated, “When you rode before, you rode English style, didn’t you?”

Zira nodded. She hadn’t even thought about having to learn a new riding style. She looked down at her old English riding boots and felt very silly, indeed.

“Don’t worry. You’ll catch on quick.” Crowley slung her arms over Scout’s stall gate and pointed to his saddle. It was much larger than the saddles Zira was accustomed to riding with. “The main difference is that you shift your weight to direct your horse instead of using the reins,” Crowley explained. “You hold your reins in one hand and if you need to, you can hold onto the saddle with that horn on the front of it.” 

Zira nodded, hoping she didn’t look like a total fool when she mounted the horse. Crowley must have seen her nervousness because she smiled encouragingly. “Just watch me.” She snapped her fingers suddenly like she was just struck with an idea. Scout whinnied. She patted him absently to calm him down. “One more thing, if you are going to be riding Western.” 

She hurried over to a set of cubbies on one side of the barn and reached into one, pulling out two cowboy hats. She easily plopped one on her head then sauntered over to Zira, holding the other hat out. The hat on Crowley’s head completed her outfit perfectly and Zira thought she might melt right then into the hay covered ground of the barn. She looked at the hat Crowley was holding out to her. “I’m not sure I know how to wear it,” she admitted with some embarrassment. Crowley smiled and took a step closer, biting her tongue as she focused on placing the hat on Zira’s head. Zira watched her, wide eyed. Her heart was trying to burst through her skin. “How does it look?” she asked shyly when Crowley had finished.

“Good,” Crowley said, her own face intent on Zira. “It looks really good.” 

There was a charged silence between them as they each stared at the other in wonder. Crowley broke it. “Right, well. We’d better get going while the sun’s still out.” She smiled toothily and Zira couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

When Antonia and Zira returned to the barn after riding for hours, Antonia was giddy. They were laughing about something or other as they dismounted and led the horses back to their stalls to take off their saddles. She felt alive with exercise and fresh air, even with her windswept face feeling somewhat numb.

Zira was a natural and Antonia was already getting excited about spending many more weekends like this. Maybe with Warlock, too.

She hadn’t ridden with another adult, or really even spent much extended time with another adult since Eric had passed. It felt good to be back in the saddle again, so to speak. She shook her head at her own dumb internal joke as she helped Zira unbuckle Scout’s saddle.

She’d told her to call her ‘Crowley’ and she had felt stupid as soon as it left her lips, but it had been what Eric called her, and that felt good, too, hearing that name again. 

It felt good feeling something for someone again. Feeling like she could be close to someone.

Antonia was still trying to crack Zira. She knew there was something interesting hidden underneath that angelic facade, and she was determined to find it. 

After taking the horses out to pasture, they headed back to the barn. They paused in front of the cubbies, Antonia turning to face Zira, not ready to take her hat back, not ready for the day to end.

“So how do you _really_ like it at the school?” she pried, hoping to get some honesty out of the beatific librarian. “I know it can’t really all be sunshine. Remember, I work there, too. I know how it really is.”

Zira frowned adorably and Antonia waited. 

“I’m not this biggest fan of Tracy’s frequent lateness,” she said carefully.

Antonia smiled. “Uh huh. What else?”

Zira began wringing her hands. “I don’t appreciate the way some of the teachers treat me. As if I am a peon.” Her voice began to increase in volume. “As if I don’t have a Master’s Degree in Library Science.”

Antonia’s smile widened. “What else?”

Zira met Antonia’s eyes briefly, then looked away. “Well, there’s the administration. Some days I’d really like to punch Gabriel Arch in the face.”

Antonia chuckled. She was absolutely delighted. “Sounds like an appropriate response.”

Zira met Antonia’s eyes, then. Antonia’s smile faded as she stared into the bright blue eyes before her, locked in and unblinking. She took off her own hat slowly and then Zira’s. She took a tiny step forward. “And what do you think of me?” she asked softly.

Zira was quiet at first and Antonia waited with bated breath.

“I think you are the only intelligent person in the whole school,” Zira breathed.

“That can’t be right,” Antonia breathed back as she leaned in, towards Zira’s gently parted lips. “There’s at least one other,” she whispered before meeting Zira’s soft mouth. She dropped both hats carelessly to the floor and slid her fingers into Zira’s hair. Zira responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around Antonia’s neck, kissing back passionately. Antonia felt lightheaded. She stumbled forward, pressing Zira’s back to the cubbies. 

There was a loud screech of the barn door opening. Antonia and Zira each snapped away, releasing each other, and looked at the door. There was an adult with a child in full equestrian gear entering the barn. Antonia flushed to what must have been a deep red.

Zira coughed discreetly and Antonia glanced at her. “Perhaps,” Zira suggested softly without meeting her eyes. “We can continue this conversation elsewhere?” 

Crowley’s brain was working in overdrive, still trying to stop reeling from the very uncomfortable interruption. “Maybe over dinner tonight?” she suggested hopefully, before she’d even had time to consider the implications of the offer. “At my house?”

Zira’s eyes fixed on Antonia’s. “With you and Warlock?”

Antonia’s heartbeat picked up as she felt embarrassment crawling up her neck. “Uuuhh.” It was a bit much, hanging out with someone’s kid on a first date, wasn’t it? Or was this now technically the second date? “Ye-yeah,” Antonia settled on. 

Zira smiled softly. “I’d like that very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> There is a companion piece (inspired by _Lover_ ) coming about Crowley's husband _very soon_ , so keep your eyes open if you are interested (and want to cry 😭)!
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr as jamgrlsblog 😊!


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